


For the Love of Football

by somewhereelse



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-11-16 14:49:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20846921
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/somewhereelse/pseuds/somewhereelse
Summary: Christen Press is a successful corporate attorney with a closet of power suits and a soft spot for pro bono clients. Tobin Heath is her newest pro bono client with a heart of gold and a pitch of dreams. No one could possibly predict what happens next.Love? Is it love?(Spoiler alert: It’s love.)





	For the Love of Football

**Author's Note:**

> The entire time I was writing this, my brain was going: Oh god, are we really doing this? We’re really doing this. Why are we doing this?
> 
> But here we are. Life’s a rollercoaster.

Only by the grace of some higher power do the overstuffed redwelds make the journey in tact all the way from her apartment, including a scuffle with the building security gate that never wants to read her ID card on the first or even third try, near unending elevator ride, excruciating small talk with a receptionist, and finally a power walk past the partner in the corner office. The second Christen drops them on her desk, the expandable files all but explode, papers strewn everywhere. She heaves a sigh but, really, that was kind of the best case scenario for how her day’s looking.

Without even attempting to organize the mess, she reaches for her desk phone and dials the first stored number. The ringing over the speaker phone is loud and obnoxious in the quiet office, especially since it’s just before most people in her hallway trickle in. But Christen can’t be bothered to lift the handset and she gets an answer soon enough with a quiet click and an unenthusiastic, “Yello?”

“Coffee?”

The answering voice turns highly amused. “Already? It’s barely even 8:30. The line’s going to be so long. Yeah, okay, meet you in the lobby in five.”

Slipping her wallet and sunglasses from her purse, Christen makes it one step out of her office before abruptly turning back to at least shuffle the papers into a neater pile. Only once she’s organized enough to appease her compulsiveness does she resume the trudge downstairs. 

Kelley’s waiting for her as promised, sprawled sideways over a nondescript black armchair in the corner of the lobby. Her legs and head hang over the sides, sunglasses covering what are sure to be closed eyes, and the only reason security isn’t concerned is because this is too common of an occurrence.

“Pressy, you can’t request a coffee run and show up late. It’s rude,” Kelley yawns at her approach. So much for having her eyes closed.

She extends a hand to help Kelley leverage herself up off the couch and accepts the quick hug. After an apologetic shrug, Christen offers, “Sorry. My treat then.”

Kelley just waves her off. They’ve long since lost track of who owes who coffees, breakfasts, lunches, and dinners. In any case, the financial trading isn’t as important as the real reason they take any excuse to leave the building together. Christen’s pretty sure they’re the only thing keeping each other sane, or as close to it as possible.

“How’s your day looking?” Kelley pushes up her sunglasses once the line moves inside. Just as she predicted, the line at their usual place is extra long for the time of morning, even snaking out the doors. “Want to grab lunch?”

Mentally recounting through the itinerary she scribbled at her dining table, Christen shakes her head. “Can’t. I’ve got a new pro bono client coming in at noon. Besides aren’t you supposed to be chained to your desk to close that deal tomorrow?”

“Do I look chained to my desk?” Kelley mutters sarcastically, gesturing to the short-lived freedom they’re enjoying. “Pro bono, huh? Senior partners aren’t going to like that.”

No, they won’t. Over the years, she’s gotten more than the occasional talking to about her bleeding heart and how she might want to reconsider her priorities. 

“Whatever,” is her tired brush-off. “The executive committee’s the one that signed the pro bono pledge. I’m just trying to get us to the bare minimum.”

They finally make it to the front of the line where the baristas know both their regular orders. Christen hands over her credit card despite Kelley’s protests. As they wait at the end of the counter for their drinks, Kelley offers her usual piece of advice. 

“Close that contract for the new stadium, and that’ll shut them up for awhile.”

* * *

“Christen?”

Both the knock and Mal’s voice come as a surprise, and Christen whips her head up to look at her door.

There must be complete shock on her face because Mal winces before continuing, “Sorry, I called and emailed, but your phones are on Do Not Disturb. Tobin Heath is in the Manhattan Beach conference room.”

“Tobin Heath?” Christen repeats, trying to get her bearings. A quick glance at her desktop tells her it’s 12:18, and since she’s surprised it’s already lunchtime, she’s definitely too deep into this contract to remember the rest of her schedule.

Good thing she likes Mal because that eye roll would not fly with any of the other attorneys at this firm. “Your pro bono client? Director of the Football and Film Academy?”

Oh crap.

Christen stands quickly enough that her desk chair flies backwards and knocks into the bookshelf behind her. “Whoa,” Mal mumbles as she scurries around the not exactly large office, looking for the file she compiled last night.

Not that there was much to compile. The Football and Film Academy didn’t have much of a web presence and what was there needed to be updated badly. She’s got a printout of their mission statement—the usual spiel about uplifting and supporting young kids—and a schedule of events from three months ago. It’s not the worse she’s dealt with in terms of pro bono clients but it also means she’s walking into this meeting blind and can use all the time she can get to figure out why they need an attorney.

Mal produces the redweld from behind her back. “You left it at my desk so you wouldn’t lose it in here.” _Because every available surface is covered with the contract for the new stadium_, is the unspoken comment.

Heaving a sigh of relief, she takes the file with a quick thanks and speed walks her way to the side of the floor lined with conference rooms. For privacy and confidentiality, Mal’s lowered the blinds, blocking the view into the room through the otherwise glass walls along the hallway. So when Christen opens the door, hopefully not looking as flustered as she’s feeling, she’s on the receiving end of a surprise.

The only person in the room is a woman, long hair, lanky, and about her height if Christen herself hadn’t slipped on three-inch heels before leaving her office. She’s standing at the West-facing, floor-to-ceiling windows, hands in the pockets of her black slacks, and looking at ease. On a clear day, one can make out Santa Monica and the Pacific beyond, but today’s not a clear day so that must be why she still has on her sunglasses, to counteract the extra brightness reflecting off all the haze and smog.

_Well, she’s probably not a football player._ Christen comes to that belated conclusion and pokes her head back into the hallway to make sure she didn’t walk into the wrong room. Mal did say Manhattan Beach, right?

“Excuse me?” She hates to interrupt the woman’s peacefulness but, well, she does have a client to find.

The other woman turns to face her, and Christen can’t see her eyes, but her jaw, and that utterly impressive jawline, goes slack before she recovers.

“Hi,” the _widest_ smile greets her, “You must be Christen Press.”

Christen nods, feeling a little dumbstruck herself when the sunglasses are removed and she gets the full effect of _that_ face staring back at her. “Tobin Heath?” her voice rises slightly in her uncertainty, and a low laugh is the response.

“That’s me. Sorry I’m late. I really tried, just had trouble finding parking.”

“You’re not the first. Don’t worry about it,” Christen’s quick to reassure her, not mentioning that the meeting completely slipped her mind, before gesturing to a seat.

As they settle in, Christen notices that Tobin loses a little bit of that effortless ease. Tobin looks discomforted by the shiny _everything_ of the room, and she can’t blame her. It’s kind of an obnoxious lot to take in, but she tries to treat all clients, regardless of financial ability to pay their ridiculous hourly rate, the same. That thought reminds her to offer a cup of coffee from the fancy machine on the counter, the one she’s pretty sure she’ll need Mal to operate.

“I guess you were expecting an _American_ football player?” Tobin cuts to the chase once she’s declined the offer for coffee or water. “Yeah, we were feeling kind of rebellious and wanted to call it football like the rest of the world.”

“Oh, _that_ football,” Christen realizes like she didn’t play all the way through college. “I should have considered that. Sorry, I tried to do my research ahead of time, but there wasn’t much available. Do you mind giving me some background on the organization?”

Tobin lights up at the question, almost immediately becoming more at ease again. “We’re an after school program, providing soccer and photography classes to kids at schools that have basically cut physical education and arts funding.”

Smiling, Christen prods, “And _we_ are?”

It’s obvious from the way Tobin practically vibrates with excitement that she wants to tell her so much more. But the way she holds her tongue probably means someone’s coached her not to just word vomit at the fancy lawyer office. That’s the last thing _this_ fancy lawyer wants. No, Christen wants to hear everything because soccer was her first love and growing the game was something she had dreamed about doing, before the fancy lawyering at least.

“Me and my two friends, Lindsey and Emily. I know that sounds small, but they’re just the only ones on the payroll. We have this, like, network? Of volunteers, I mean. They’re either pros or people we’ve played with. I promise everyone’s passed background checks. We don’t let just anyone hang out with a bunch of kids.”

“Okay,” Christen laughs at the earnest insistence. As a transactional attorney, that thankfully wasn’t the first thought to cross her mind. “So what’s going on? What brings you to me?”

That’s not how she usually would have worded the question, and the personal implication of the question makes her bite down on her lip. Tobin stills, except for her eyes that seem to glance down at Christen’s mouth, before shaking her head.

“Uh, right. We have this incredible opportunity. A potential donor wants to make a really big investment. I didn’t realize that meant I’d need legal help but yeah...” Tobin trails off as if frustrated she’s not telling the story smoothly.

“You know, context helps a lot. Even if the details don’t seem important to the issue, they can tell me a lot about you— I mean, your organization’s priorities,” she smiles reassuringly at Tobin then says what she’s had to emphasize with some of her pro bono clients before, “I promise you’re not wasting my time.”

Tobin eyes her skeptically. The outfit that’s basically a power suit, the designer heels, the Apple Watch that’s lit up every few minutes despite her refusal to look down at it. It all screams a different story, and Christen knows it.

“I played for Stanford,” she blurts out, watching Tobin’s expressions change as she processes the words.

Soon, there’s a grin splitting Tobin’s face as she prompts, “Yeah?”

“All four years,” Christen confirms with a wistful sigh, “I loved it. I mean, I hated it sometimes, mainly towards the end when there was so much pressure to win. But once I was in law school, all buckled down so I could get _here_, I realized how much I loved it and missed it. I want to help you guys, I really do. So why don’t you tell me about this opportunity?”

Tobin looks infinitely more relaxed, no longer like she’s scared she’s going to break something in the room or bore Christen out of her mind. “Have you heard of Lauren Cheney—Holiday now?”

“Uh, yeah,” Christen scoffs, the _duh_ obvious in her voice.

“Right,” Tobin grins at her knowledge, and Christen thinks that’s her natural expression. She likes it. “Lauren and her husband Jrue. Uh, he’s in the NBA with New Orleans, and they both played at UCLA. They’re starting this foundation for nonprofit, volunteer stuff, mainly sports-related. I don’t know what all their plans are, but they want us to be a partner, kind of the first organization under their umbrella.”

“That _is_ an incredible opportunity,” Christen agrees with the earlier description. Tobin looks overwhelmed by the possibilities so she tries to bring it back home for her. “What does that mean for you guys on a day-to-day level?”

“I don’t think much would change except I won’t have to run around trying to drum up donations? Which is good,” Tobin shrugs unapologetically, “I kind of hate that.”

“Don’t blame you.”

Building her book of business is the part of her practice Christen dreads the most. She’s not unaware of how she looks, but in her experience, her attractiveness has been a double-edged sword. People are faster to talk to her but they also have certain expectations of how she acts and talks, how she got her job, how her qualifications line up, and _other_ things. She knows everyone else goes through it, too, but it all seems heightened when it comes to her. At least Kelley, for a somewhat unbiased opinion, agrees about the extra scrutiny.

Tobin tosses her a curious look for the mumble but continues, “They don’t want us to change what we’re already doing, but we need to sign some kind of agreement with them? About what we’ll do with the funding, I guess. And they’re letting us use some office space, too.”

“Okay, it sounds like you’ll need a joint venture agreement and a lease, at least to start,” Christen tells her as she’s jotting down notes in her legal pad. “Do you know if there’s a lawyer at the Foundation, or can you give me whoever’s your point of contact there?”

Tobin’s a little wide-eyed when she looks up. “You figured that out from my rambling?”

“You understand more than you give yourself credit for,” Christen reassures her, watching with interest as a blush develops under Tobin’s tan.

“About the lawyer, I think they just hired one but I’ll ask Cheney and let you know,” Tobin mumbles, more to the table than to Christen.

Taking the opportunity, she slides her business card across the surface. “Call or email when you can. Once we figure out who’s taking the lead on drafting documents, I’d like to meet with you again to make sure your priorities are reflected in them and explain how we’re going to protect your organization’s interests. It should be a pretty friendly process, but...” Christen trails off, sure that Tobin can catch her drift.

“Cool,” Tobin mutters. She picks up the thick card from the dark table and fiddles with it for a second. Before Christen can ask if she has any questions, Tobin pulls out her phone to take a quick picture. “Going to be honest, I’ll probably lose this before I get back to my car.”

An amused chuckle leaves her lips before Christen can stop it, and she flushes a little because she shouldn’t be laughing at—_with_—a client. “I—uh, I think that’s all for now. I’ll check and make sure the engagement letter and other admin is taken care of, but hopefully we can get the ball rolling soon.”

“Pun intended?” Tobin quirks another grin at her, and Christen turns redder because, no, it was not.

They both stand and head for the door, Christen taking the time to walk her to the elevator bank because the office is something like a maze.

“Thanks for your help. I don’t think I said it before,” Tobin says quietly as they pass by a bullpen of secretarial desks.

“Not a problem. I really do love football, and it’s been too long since I played, so it’ll be nice to be involved even in a small way.” She pushes forward a step to press the call button and extends a hand to Tobin.

The handshake is firm, and Christen thinks it’s only a little odd that Tobin’s cool hand in hers fills her with a warmth she and her two Stanford degrees can’t describe.

“What are you doing tonight?”

She’s surprised by the question, and so is Tobin based on the way she rushes to clarify. “I didn’t— I wasn’t— I mean, we have this kind of pick-up game slash clinic for high schoolers couple nights a week. We rotate pitches, and tonight’s not far from here. You should come.”

An elevator comes and goes as Christen tries to string together an appropriate response. “I might have to work late. As usual.” Which is the truth but feels like a cop-out.

Tobin doesn’t let her get away with it though. “It goes till whenever. Lights don’t shut off until 10. Please tell me you leave your office before 10.”

Christen laughs, although it’s a little self-conscious because the truth is, not always. “I don’t have boots anymore.”

“Neither do half the kids that show up,” Tobin grins at her sympathetic grimace, “It’s kind of why we need the Foundation. Anyway, you can just watch, but I’d like to introduce you—the badass lawyer who’s getting us money and an office—to the rest of the team if you have time. If not, don’t worry about it.”

Finally, Christen smiles. “Thanks for the offer. I’ll try my best?”

“I’ll email you the details,” Tobin answers as if Christen actually agreed and presses the button herself this time. Then she makes a face after the bell dings and she’s walked into the otherwise empty elevator. “Crap. I left your card in there.”

“Good thing you took a picture,” Christen reminds her and waves as the doors close.

* * *

“So. How was it? Worth getting all dressed up?”

Emily Sonnett practically jumps on her the moment she pulls up behind the soccer field serving as their afternoon venue for the day. It’s not the greatest pitch but it’s within walking distance of three middle schools, which makes up for the lacking quality. Tobin doesn’t answer right away, instead climbing into her truck bed to unload their setup.

“I’m not dressed up,” she finally denies. Because she’s not. Anymore at least. Now she’s in shorts, a Football and Film Academy shirt, and a pair of slides until she needs to put her boots on.

Sonny stops walking towards the grass just so she can put down enough stuff to throw a ball at Tobin. “Don’t lie. You were wearing a shirt without any Nike logos, pants that have a button instead of drawstring, and shoes that— Well, shoes _period_ but also shoes that aren’t cleats.”

Tobin flushes, annoyed that she even texted her and Lindsey to get their opinion on an outfit appropriate for a meeting on the thirtieth floor of one of the Century Plaza Towers.

“Seriously, how’d it go? Do we have a lawyer or what? I knew Linds should have gone with you. She’s the only actual responsible one of us.”

Narrowing her eyes at her friend slash employee, Tobin reminds her, “_I’m_ the director.”

Sonny just shoots her an unimpressed look.

On a sigh, Tobin puts her out of her misery. “Yes, we have a lawyer.” Boy do they.

“And?” Sonny prompts for more details, “Was she as hot as her picture on the website? Or did that get cancelled out by the whole dead-eyed, corporate drone thing?”

“Christen isn’t a—” Tobin cuts herself off. That’s the last thing she needs either of them picking up on, not Sonny now and not Lindsey if Christen does show at the evening session. “Look, she was nice and helpful and smart. She even played for Stanford so she’s, like, all about this. Couldn’t be happier to help.”

“Cool, cool, cool,” Sonny bobs her head in relief before a grin escapes, “_Christen_, huh?”

“Shut up,” Tobin hisses, saved by the arrival of some of their kids.

Once Sonny leaves and it’s just her waiting with a few girls for their parents to pick them up, she remembers to send tonight’s details to Christen. Tobin gets the brilliant idea to include the girls who are only too happy to ham it up for the camera. The overload of cuteness pays off when Christen responds, “Who can say no to those faces? See you at 7:30.”

* * *

The email comes sometime after 4 pm, just after she and Kelley get back from their afternoon coffee run. 

(There is, of course, coffee provided for in the office. It’s just absolute sludge they refuse to drink.) 

Tobin’s sent the start time and location for the evening clinic along with a selfie with a group of young girls miming begging. She assumes the kids are part of the after school program and she can’t help but be charmed by the sweet gesture. Oh, and she’s officially been won over. Into going to the clinic, that is.

Just before 7, Christen finds herself in the locker room of the firm’s dedicated gym that hardly anyone ever uses. Kelley’s next to her, changing into the workout clothes they keep in the duffel bags under their desks, the clothes that also haven’t seen enough use. At least convincing Kelley wasn’t too difficult since she managed to get everything lined up for her closing tomorrow and they’re too old to go out drinking to celebrate on a weekday.

“You doing okay, Pressy?”

“We’re going to go play _soccer_, Kels,” Christen grins at the woman who’s not only her coworker and old law school classmate but also her former teammate and captain, “I’m doing great.”

“Really?” Kelley’s face is screwed up with skepticism, “Because you’re supposed to be turning a contract for a hundred million dollar deal, and we’re going to go play _soccer_.”

Yeah, she knows what Kelley’s getting at. It’s what she’s been getting at for months now, ever since Christen made partner and didn’t seem to relish the promotion as much as expected. But she’s not going to let that dampen her mood. “Remember when we used to get excited about playing? Think you can reach back that far?”

“I remember at the end when the thought of playing made you cry,” Kelley mutters under her breath even though they’re right next to each other and Christen can hear her perfectly. She releases a sigh before trying again. “I’m just saying. This is a lot, even for you.”

“What do you mean?” Christen shrugs, sitting down to tie her shoes.

“I know you care about your pro bono clients, more than any of us really, but you don’t usually go to their events unless it involves a fundraiser you can’t get out of.”

Without looking up, she argues, “It’s not an event.”

“You’re right,” Kelley concedes before pointing out, “It’s a soccer clinic for random high schoolers you don’t know on some shitty pitch outside Koreatown. With a pro bono client. Who became your client _today_. That’s what makes it even weirder.”

Tired of the probing, Christen grabs her bag, now full of her work clothes, and heads for the door. “Look, if you don’t want to come...”

“I didn’t say that!” Kelley needs all of two steps to catch up then cut her off to rush through the door first. “It’s _soccer_. Of course I’m coming. But if I break my hip because some upstart teenager slide tackles me, I’m blaming you.”

“Please,” Christen scoffs, “I’m more worried about you breaking the kids.”

* * *

“Your friend’s a beast,” Tobin pants, grinning, as they reach the bench for a water break. “You guys used to play together? And now you work together?”

“Yeah.” Christen feels her permanent smile of the last half-hour grow even wider. Sadly, she can’t remember the last time she had this much fun, especially not while wearing a spare pair of cleats from Tobin’s backseat after they realized they’re the same size and borrowed shin guards. “Our coach had this saying, “We need a bitch. Get Kelley.” I brought it to the office. Somehow still applies.”

Watching Tobin double over laughing, Christen immediately decides she’d like to be the reason for that again.

“She’s all over the place. What’d she play?”

“Started as a forward. Her senior year, my junior, she switched to back but would just move up whenever she got fed up with the midfield. So like every game.” 

Tobin laughs again, not as hard this time, and Christen ignores the disappointment in the pit of her stomach.

“And you were always a striker, huh?” Tobin guesses although it’s not exactly a reach. “Got that sweet first touch _and_ crazy speed. Bet you smoked people out there.”

Christen suppresses a smug smile then accepts the water bottle she’s offered. “This is a good turnout,” she notes, glancing around the not-as-shitty-as-expected pitch. 

There’s a tent and tables set up with snacks and equipment to borrow and Football and Film Academy signage. Surprisingly, FFA has a cool-looking shield logo and she’s happy to keep the shirts Tobin offered to both her and Kelley. In the far corner is a group of kids holding cameras of various quality and waiting for play to start up again. 

“Football and film, how’d you decide on those?” she asks, turning to a suddenly embarrassed Tobin.

“Uh,” Tobin scratches the back of her neck, loosening her already loose bun even more, “Things I’m moderately good at?”

“If this is you being only moderately good at football, you must be an amazing photographer,” Christen compliments, pleased when Tobin flashes a shy smile at her.

A whistle blows, and they look over to see Lindsey dividing kids into groups for drills now that she’s gotten a look at their skill levels.

“Guess we should go help?” Tobin looks reluctant to move, even as she poses the question, and Christen gestures for her to lead the way.

Once her back is turned, Christen lifts a middle finger to Kelley who she just knows is smirking at them.

* * *

“What’s the _one_ thing people actually remember from the ethics exam, Press?” Kelley asks, the second she closes the passenger door.

(Christen might hate driving but she thinks she’d hate dying in a fiery car wreck even more so she never lets Kelley drive them anywhere.) 

“Um,” she freezes in response to the pop quiz, key halfway to the ignition. It sounds like a trick question so it probably is because it’s _Kelley_. “Don’t commingle funds?”

“Don’t sleep with clients!” Kelley throws her hands up after her search to find something to throw at Christen in her spotless car comes up empty. “Now I know you’re hiding something.”

“I am _not_ sleeping with her!” Christen denies vehemently. Her hands fall away from the steering wheel, and she whirls in her seat to stare at Kelley with wide, disbelieving eyes. “What? What is _wrong_ with you? Why would you even _think_ that?”

Kelley is, of course, unrepentant. Instead, she smirks, “Because you two were putting on a clinic all right. A clinic in _flirting_. Seriously, those hormone-afflicted teenagers were taking notes.”

“Shut up, they were not,” Christen mumbles half-heartedly, not even in a position to really deny it. 

In fact, she’s kind of pleased that Kelley thinks Tobin was flirting _back_. It’s been awhile since she found anyone interesting enough to engage with, and she’s probably rustier at flirting than at football. She finally starts the car and busies herself with carefully checking her surroundings before reversing. Last thing she needs is to hit one of Tobin’s kids because she’s flustered by Kelley’s teasing.

“Yeah, we should get you back to your desk,” Kelley just can’t resist another dig, “Faster you bill, faster she’s not your client anymore.”

* * *

Tobin knew she’s beautiful. She could see that from Christen’s photo on the firm website, even if she did look a little stiff and corporate drone-y as Sonny described. And Tobin figured she’s smart, given her alma mater and the long list of distinctions and representative matters that make FFA’s donation look inconsequential instead of universe-altering.

What Tobin is completely unprepared for is Christen Press being good at her favorite sport. 

It’s just entirely unfair. 

Tobin, the _not_-self-proclaimed Queen of Chill, was already having a hard time not being intimidated by the beautiful, smart lawyer she practically gaped at this afternoon (thank God for sunglasses). Then Christen went out of her way to put her at ease, sharing a bit about her experience to make Tobin more comfortable in that ridiculous conference room with its ridiculous view of what she thinks is Santa Monica and _not_ Manhattan Beach. It’s why she blurted out the invitation, in a way that made it sound like a date, curious to see if Christen still had any talent on the pitch. Besides, she did want Christen to meet the gang. Tobin always likes to connect people, bring them together, and see what sparked.

Her expectations are low. After all, Christen seems like a fully converted desk jockey so she’s prepared for the lawyer to be (cutely) rusty. What Tobin doesn’t expect is this deadly combination of grace and speed and footwork to figuratively and sometimes literally knock her on her ass.

Tobin tries to play it cool, focusing on questions about Christen’s friend Kelley to avoid gushing over her, but the compliment jumps out of her mouth anyway. Then Christen’s giving it right back to her, and Tobin’s blushing, actually blushing like one of the high schoolers Lindsey’s putting through their paces. 

Tobin’s not fooled though. She knows Lindsey’s paying enough attention to her and Christen for a full report back to Sonny. She just doesn’t expect the kids to get in on it, too.

“Oh, I hope these turn out,” Tierna tells her when she’s collecting used-up rolls of film at the end of the night.

Tobin doesn’t think anything of it because Christen and Kelley took off almost an hour ago, citing early meetings. “What?” she asks excitedly, “Did you get some good action shots?”

“Yeah,” Tierna agrees, exchanging a quick sly look with Lindsey right next to her, “and some of the _sidelines_.”

Excitement gone, Tobin just rolls her eyes, knowing what’s coming next.

“Good thing it rained last week. You and Christen were setting off sparks.”

“Stop,” Tobin cuts Lindsey off before she can get any further in egging on the teenager, “You guys know these people are volunteers? They don’t deserve to be heckled when they’re taking time out of their schedules to be here. I better not hear anything else like that if Christen comes back.”

“Sorry,” Tierna mumbles, and Tobin immediately feels guilty since Tierna’s never been a troublemaker and hardly said a thing, but Lindsey steps in to fall on the sword.

“My bad, T, Little T,” Lindsey’s as quick with the apology as she was with the teasing, “I’ll keep my mouth shut next time. You know they’re just taking cues from me.”

Tobin rolls her eyes again, knowing that both is and isn’t the case tonight. Still, she gives a consoled Tierna a high-five and promises to get her film back to her as soon as she can.

“You were holding out,” Lindsey says quietly as they’re loading everything into Tobin’s truck. “Em said you told her Christen played soccer, but you didn’t mention you invited her tonight.”

“Didn’t know if she’d make it,” Tobin grunts, lifting the tent enough for them to slide it the rest of the way into the bed. The physical exertion is also a good excuse for why her cheeks are red.

“Well, she’s _good_ and good with the kids. So was Kelley. Think they’ll come back again?” Lindsey moves on, dropping the topic gracefully where Sonny would have pressed more about Tobin’s caginess.

“I don’t know,” Tobin mutters, more unsure than she’d like to be. “I phrased it like a one-time thing, invited her to come meet you and some of the others. And that’s done with now. And she said she works late a lot so I don’t know. Plus, she’s this big shot attorney and yeah...”

Lindsey shoots her a kind smile from where she’s leaning against her own car door. “Tobs. Maybe you should ask.”

* * *

Christen’s had a good couple days. The stadium contract is finally off her desk and back in opposing counsel’s hands, at least for a week or so before it becomes her problem again. She closed a deal yesterday, and another is ramping up. All in all, it’s a steady, _manageable_ workflow.

She should have known that the second that thought crosses her mind, the universe would step in for a reality check.

Her desk phone rings with an unknown number. She has half a mind to forward it to Mal and let her screen it but she’s in a good mood during a rare natural break.

“This is Christen.”

“_You bitch_,” is the blunt greeting. 

Christen double takes at the receiver and then her phone screen again to confirm it’s an unknown number. Granted it’s one with an LA area code, and her office extension is listed on the website, but she’s never actually had a disgruntled _anyone_ call her like this.

“_Excuse me?!_” she exclaims, instead of hanging up like she really should. “I don’t know who—”

“Oh my god, Pressy! It’s Ashlyn. I’m sorry. I thought it’d be funny.”

Christen heaves a sigh of relief. Now that she’s said more than two words, she definitely recognizes the unmistakeable voice of her friend and former classmate. It’s not going to do any good to read Ashlyn the riot act. She’s been like this for as long as they’ve known each other.

“Gave me a heart attack,” Christen mutters into the phone. “Why don’t I have your number saved? Better question, why are you calling from an LA number?”

“I just moved,” Ashlyn laughs, “This is my new office number.”

“What?!” She practically bounces in her chair in excitement, glad that her office door is closed so no one can see the stupid smile on her face. “You left your firm?”

“Yeah, it was getting old, and I got this sweet offer to become general counsel for a nonprofit, came with a huge pay cut and increased cost of living and everything,” Christen barely has a second to laugh at the “joke” before Ashlyn continues, “You might have heard of it? It’s called the Holiday Foundation.”

Her mouth falls open, and she drops her head back in an _aha!_ moment. “You’re joking.”

“Who do you think referred you?” Ashlyn shoots back.

“Another pro bono client, thanks so much.” Christen tries for sarcasm but she can hear the smile in her voice.

So can Ashlyn. “Whatever. You love pro bono work and the game. This is right up your alley. And Tobin’s super connected somehow so I’m sure it’ll pay off eventually.”

Yeah, Christen noticed that at the soccer clinic when she found herself shoulder to shoulder with players from the men’s and women’s LAFC. This was apparently a common occurrence since the kids were unphased, so she tried her best not to be obviously starstruck. Not even when they were impressed with her and Kelley’s surprisingly intact skills.

“Tobin’s an old teammate from UNC,” Ashlyn answers the unspoken question. “Anyway, Lauren’s fine with it on my end, but I wanted to let you know to run it past your conflicts group before we get started. I’m good with someone else but I’d rather work with you, Chris. You’re my favorite.”

“Aww thanks,” Christen grins into the phone as they both chorus, “Don’t tell Ali.”

* * *

The next week, Tobin finds herself back in that conference room called Manhattan Beach even though Manhattan Beach is decidedly not visible from its view of the coastline. (That’s what she’d been staring out the window to figure out the first time she met Christen here and what she’s been able to confirm today.)

Lauren and Jrue are in town to visit his family so while she’s told this is not the norm, they’ve decided to have an all-hands meeting to go over the joint venture agreement. Christen graciously offered the firm to host so they’ve also got a spread fit for an NBA player and a gold medalist slash World Cup champion. Tobin is definitely not complaining.

It’s been a long time since she’s seen Ashlyn Harris in person, but she’s definitely not surprised by the bleach blonde with a sleeve of tattoos who practically tackles her into a hug. Only Ashlyn would be able to pull off that look while being a lawyer at some pretentious East Coast firm. 

“Good to see you, too,” Tobin wheezes out before being lifted into the air.

“Ash, stop manhandling my client,” Christen commands as she walks—_glides_—into the room.

Tobin tries not to stare, but Christen’s wearing another one of those power suits, and Tobin can’t figure out if she looks better all done up like this or sweaty after chasing around a soccer ball for a couple hours. And it does something to her insides to hear Christen refer to Tobin as _hers_, even it’s just as a client.

“Hi Tobin,” Christen smiles sweetly, “Thanks for being on time today.”

At the unexpected teasing, Tobin’s tongue twists, not even remembering how to string together a dry response. She doesn’t have to when Ashlyn starts laughing at her instead.

“Tobs is _never_ on time,” Ashlyn teases, “Do you know how many extra laps she had to run for always showing up late to practice? You must be special, Pressy.”

“_Pressy?_” Tobin asks once Ashlyn retreats to the opposite side of the room to pull papers out of her briefcase.

Christen just rolls her eyes. “I don’t need that from you, too.” Her teasing smile takes any bite out of the warning. “Ash likes to pretend we’re still back in school and can goof off wherever.”

“You’re the one who calls Kelley a bitch in the office,” Tobin reminds her and watches, pleased, when she turns bright red.

“Oh god. I forgot I told you about that. I don’t do that in front of _clients_,” Christen pauses to look her up and down, and Tobin feels an actual chill race down her spine, “Or at least I didn’t until _you_.”

The comment is loaded, and a slow, _flirty_ smile pulls at Tobin’s lips. Before she can reply though, there’s a knock at the door and Christen’s secretary is letting in Lauren and Jrue. 

_Later_, the look in Tobin's eye says, but the look on Christen’s face seems suddenly anxious. 

* * *

Christen tries to limit their interactions to phone conversations, but that good intention goes quickly down the drain. Tobin can’t quite follow what she’s explaining in the joint venture agreement. Christen knows it would be easier if she could make sure they were literally on the same page in the document and see exactly where the other woman gets lost, instead of trying to guess from distracted mumbling.

So that’s how the first coffee meeting develops.

She’s not going to ask Tobin to come by the office again when it’s obviously not a comfortable environment for her so she suggests the nearby coffee shop instead.

Christen’s done her best to drag what feels like half her office with her: multiple copies of the agreement, highlighters and pens, her laptop for any edits, and extra work in case Tobin is late as infamously suggested.

Tobin is, in fact, early and waiting for her at a table on the partially shaded patio. “Is this okay? We can go inside, but it’s such a beautiful day.” She tips her head back to bask in a patch of sunshine for a second then straightens up to smile at Christen, who finds herself a little dumbstruck. 

“This is perfect,” she manages to get out, dumping her armload on the table before going inside to order (and mentally slap herself a few times).

They breeze through the agreement. Tobin is direct and sure about what rights she wants protected for FFA and defers to Christen’s advice where she’s less knowledgeable about the subject. Before long, Christen has a respectable but, she thinks, reasonable issues list for discussion with Ashlyn.

“We have another clinic tonight,” Tobin says as Christen slowly packs her things. She budgeted an hour for this, and they’re not quite there yet, and the office is right across the street, so she doesn’t think there’s any harm in lingering. “You and Kelley were great last week. Think you can come back?”

That’s how, without _really_ knowing how, Christen finds herself on a pitch again, for the second time in as many weeks, when she hasn’t touched a ball in years.

And as simple as that, it becomes a routine.

She meets Tobin for coffee again and again to go over developments in the agreement which moves quickly because Ashlyn is like a dog with a bone, and unofficially extra motivated for her old friend. To Christen’s relief, there are no actual sticking points, just back-and-forth about logistics and feasibility. The one time there isn’t any progress, since Ali’s dragged Ashlyn off for a mental health weekend, Christen forgets to cancel so she meets Tobin anyway, and they talk about everything else going on in their worlds, and that sets the precedent for their future coffee da—_meetings_. Despite how very much she hates driving, she ends up on a different pitch two nights a week, blocking it off in her calendar as a personal commitment. The executive committee grumbles about it, but she’s as productive as ever and rubbing shoulders with the general counsel of LAFC and their investors, and so they can’t complain too much.

Kelley stops asking if she’s doing okay. The answer is obviously _yes_. 

* * *

Christen is so natural like this, in the sunshine, smiling and laughing, that Tobin can’t help but stare. Tobin honestly can’t believe that Christen spends so much time shut up inside at her desk when she’s clearly meant to be out in the world. It just seems _wrong_ that she only gets an hour of daylight (and crazy that she chooses to spend it having coffee with Tobin).

“What?” Christen asks, pulling Tobin from her thoughts, “Do I have something in my teeth?”

“No,” she answers immediately, “You’re perfect.”

Christen blushes and sets down the phone she was probably going to use as a mirror. Tobin can feel her own face turning red but she doesn’t try to take back the words or play them off. Not when they’re the absolute truth.

Tobin’s thought that for weeks now. Really from the very first second, but her belief in Christen’s perfection has cemented with each passing day. It’s all in the way she smoothly and patiently navigates Tobin through the unfamiliar legal waters, the way she takes Lindsey’s and Sonny’s craziness in stride, the way she makes time for the clinics and revels in nurturing the kids’ love for the game. And if Tobin was impressed with Christen’s playing that first night, now that the rust has been knocked off, Christen is incredible on the field.

Yeah, perfect’s about the only word for her.

“So I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Christen starts once she’s waved the flush off her face.

Tobin’s heart stops only to start beating double time. 

_Is this it? _

She feels like something has been building between them. Surely not every lawyer doing volunteer work spends _this_ much time with their clients, but Tobin’s been wary of bringing too much attention to it. Maybe that would make Christen self-conscious and stop hanging around. She’s positive there are rules about relationships between attorneys and their clients, rules she’s unaware of and may not understand, so she’s tried to wait patiently on Christen’s cues.

“You play beautiful football,” Christen tosses the compliment out easily. It’s one of her favorite expressions, the _beautiful_ game, and Tobin lets a smug smirk slip. “But I still haven’t seen your photographs. I don’t mean the ones on Instagram. Those are great, by the way. I mean the real ones.”

“I’m not a _real_ photographer,” Tobin instantly denies, not knowing where Christen’s expectations are. “I mean that. I took one darkroom class in college and just liked it enough to keep up with it.”

“That says something, too, though,” Christen points out, “That you like it enough to keep up with it. I’m not expecting Annie Leibovitz or whoever, Tobin. I’d just like to see the world from your perspective. You know, the things and people and places that are important to you.”

Her mind’s kind of blown by the simple request. Somehow, Christen already knows her well enough to know that Tobin uses photography not just for posterity but as a way to physically hold onto her memories. She’s silently processing that and must take too long to respond because Christen suddenly withdraws the request.

“If that’s too personal... I’m sorry I shouldn’t have asked.”

“No!” Tobin blurts out, loud enough that she winces after. “I’d like to share that with you. I really would,” she insists when Christen continues to look skeptical. “Tonight after the clinic? I have some prints at my place. Just, you know, the _important_ ones.”

“Tonight,” Christen agrees with a pleased smile.

* * *

On some level, Christen knew to expect more than just action shots of football, but the range of subjects still surprises her.

Tobin has a number of pictures hanging on her walls. Inexplicably, Christen likes that they’re matted, giving them a professional finish, but not framed, inviting her to engage with them and not just admire from behind glass. There’s also what was originally intended as a magazine rack holding a neat stack of prints, but she focuses on the ones on display.

Family and friends dominate the photographs. Even the landscapes aren’t the usual humble brag of a well-traveled life but ordinary places that must hold a special place in Tobin’s heart. She wants to ask the story behind every shot, but it’s already late and she has a decent drive home from Tobin’s apartment in actual Manhattan Beach. Instead, Christen quietly looks over each photo, noting the ones she’s most curious about, until she reaches the picture most prominently displayed.

The photograph is of a pitch at sunrise. The outline of the goal is just barely visible through the morning fog that hasn’t fully burnt off, and the haze makes the recognizable site look otherworldly. It reminds Christen of early mornings, of damp grass and careless sliding, of the thrill of potential.

She senses Tobin coming to stand right at her shoulder and resists the urge to lean into her new favorite photographer. 

“That’s my favorite shot _ever_.” Tobin’s declaration is sure, but her tone is vulnerable.

“It might be mine, too,” she says honestly, turning her head slightly to watch Tobin’s reaction. Christen’s not disappointed when Tobin blushes and dips her head. Not wanting to make her uncomfortable, she turns back to the photo. “Where is this? UNC?”

“No, just by my parents’ old house.” There’s a pause before she says very quietly, “It’s where I fell in love.”

“Oh.” The sound leaves Christen’s throat involuntarily, like the air had to, to make room for her heart leaping into her throat. “That’s beautiful, Tobin.”

“Do you— Do you really like it?”

She turns fully this time so Tobin can see the emotion shining in her eyes. “I really do.”

“Then you should have it.”

Just like that, Tobin’s reaching over her shoulder, pulling the print off the wall and dangling it in front of her.

Christen is immediately shaking her head. Her hands fly up to refuse acceptance of the item. “No, I couldn’t. You just said it’s your favorite, and it’s so special to you.”

“Chris,” Tobin laughs, and Christen bites her lip because people have called her by that nickname but Tobin never has before. She likes it so much, _too much_. “It’s a photograph. I know exactly where the negative is. I can print another one. And it’ll be _more_ special to me knowing you have this one.”

She takes the print gingerly with the tips of her fingers. “Thank you. I’ll hang it someplace special.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Tobin demurs, her assuredness of a moment ago gone.

Without thinking about it, Christen steps forward and finds herself kissing Tobin’s cheek in thanks. By the time she’s pulled away, her heartbeat is pounding in her ears, and she’s suddenly conscientious of all the ways that was inappropriate. Tobin’s staring at her with bright eyes, like she’s the second coming, and Christen scrambles for her purse she left by the door.

“I should go. It’s already late and, uh, work and the drive.”

The excuses tumble out of her mouth, but Tobin steadies her with a hand on her shoulder. 

“Good night, Chris.” 

Then she’s leaning in, reciprocating the gesture except Tobin’s lips land an inch closer to the corner of her mouth, and Christen’s breath catches in her throat.

“Good night,” she forces out of her dry mouth before blindly making her way out the door.

“Drive safe,” Tobin tacks on, waving until she gets in her car.

* * *

Mal’s updated her contacts so she’s not surprised this time when she picks up the phone and hears, “You’re welcome, bitch.”

“Ash,” Christen sighs, “you know we’re supposed to be professionals in a work environment, right?”

“I don’t know what kind of West Coast hippies you work for, but my senior partners called me things way worse than bitch.”

Christen rubs her forehead in frustration before responding, “That’s... _harassment_.” But also just the sad state of their chosen profession.

“I know,” Ashlyn laughs, “Why do you think I left? Let’s try this again. You’re welcome, bitch.”

“Thank you,” Christen responds automatically even as she rolls her eyes, “For what now?”

“I got you more time to spend with your girlfriend.” Ashlyn’s voice goes all sing-songy on the last word, and Christen wishes they were in the same room so Ashlyn can see her roll her eyes.

Instead she just mutters, “_Not_ my girlfriend.”

“Oh right yeah. Actually I take that back. Don’t thank me.”

“Okay,” she agrees easily, “I rescind my thank you. I still don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“On the one hand, you get to keep Tobin as your client for a little longer. On the other hand, Tobin’s your client for longer so you still can’t ask her out.” 

Christen can just imagine the grimace on Ashlyn’s face, the one that will turn into an annoyed frown when she sighs, “I am _not_ trying to ask her out.”

Ashlyn clicks her tongue in the most condescending way. “Pressy, Pressy, Pressy. How long have I known you? Since your first day of law school when you were a wee, scared little 1L and they assigned you to have the coolest, best 3L mentor ever?"

“_Ali_ is the best,” Christen retorts, and Ashlyn’s laugh booms through the speaker, “You’re just alright, I guess.”

“What I’m saying is, do you know how many times you’ve met with a client _every_ week, _multiple_ times a week, even when there’s hardly anything new? None. Until Tobin. Do all of your pro bono clients get your singular attention like this?”

“Yes,” Christen pops off, tone daring Ashlyn to contradict her.

Ashlyn sighs, “I’d call bullshit, but knowing you, that’s probably true. Such a bleeding heart. Back to the news. You know how Cheney was setting them up with some space where I’m officing?”

Christen immediately jumps to the worst case scenario because this transaction has just been too smooth, even if it is among friends, and she’s been waiting for even the slightest little hiccup. “Did it fall through? I mean, I don’t think they care that much about having an office so it may not be a big deal.”

“No!” Ashlyn cuts her off excitedly, “I mean yes but not really. We found this shitty old building they can use instead.”

“_Yikes_,” Christen recoils, speechless and kind of offended.

Ashlyn’s laughing though and tries to fix it. “I’m not going to lie. It’s a pretty shitty old building but it comes with a parking lot and a shitty pitch, too. The Foundation’s going to foot the renovation costs since it’ll be the official headquarters and house our other partners, and I bet we can get some reimbursement or tax breaks from the city, too. Anyway, they’ll have office and storage space and a dedicated pitch so they’re not always driving around.”

Christen can feel the wide smile stretching across her face. “Ash! That’s great news. Do you think there’s space for, like, a darkroom? Maybe a gallery?”

“No idea but there’s the spirit! Cheney wants to keep this as a surprise for a little longer, kick some of the dirt off the building first. Do you think you can stall on the lease?” Not letting Christen answer, Ashlyn drops right back into teasing. “I wouldn’t normally have to ask, but since you guys see each other _so_ often, Tobs might find it a little strange when you don’t have any updates for what we called a simple sublease.”

“I hate you,” she mumbles grumpily into the receiver, and Ashlyn, as usual, just laughs.

* * *

“Do you think they’re getting cold feet or something?” Tobin asks as her leg bounces nervously under the table.

Christen’s quick to lay a hand on the errant limb when she nearly upsets their drinks. Tobin tries her hardest not to blush as Christen absently pats her thigh after she settles down with one final jerk. She’s pretty sure she fails.

“What? No, of course not. You guys already have the operations and new camps going, that’s the important part. Ash just said the landlord’s having trouble clearing the former tenant out so the Foundation can’t sign the lease which means they can’t sublease it to you.”

Her eyes must be glazing over because Christen just waves a dismissive hand. “It’s a minor delay. Don’t worry about it. I’ll let you know when something’s ready to sign and you guys can move in.”

“Okay,” Tobin agrees then beams, “I trust you.”

If Christen looks away kind of guiltily, she’s sure it’s just her imagination. After all, they’ve been friendly for weeks, hopefully building to that something _more_ now, and Christen’s been solidly in FFA’s corner since the start. Tobin forgets all about it just as soon as Christen starts telling her about the prank Mal pulled on a paralegal and Tobin’s responding by describing the crazy drills Lindsey’s come up with for their youngest group.

As oblivious as she can be, it doesn’t escape Tobin’s notice that for a forty-five minute coffee to touch base on FFA’s lease, they only spend about two minutes on business. They’re actual friends now, Tobin thinks. In just this short time, Christen knows as much about Tobin as anyone else she’s let into her life. And the more time they spend together, the more Tobin wants Christen to know _everything _(and wants to know everything about Christen).

“You shouldn’t worry about that,” Tobin interjects as Christen explains the latest office drama. “Seriously. If they can’t see how valuable you are, Chris, screw ’em. They don’t deserve you, and you don’t need them.”

She doesn’t mean to be so heated, but hearing that someone’s putting down Christen for caring so much about others... Well, it makes Tobin defensive, to say the least.

“That’s not really how it works,” Christen rolls her eyes even as she looks at Tobin with a barely there smile, “but thanks for the faith.”

Without thinking, she reaches across the table to squeeze Christen’s hand and freezes when she realizes what she’s done. Christen just stares at their joined hands, and right when Tobin’s about to pull back and apologize for overstepping, Christen flips her hand over so she can slot her fingers alongside Tobin’s.

“Hey,” she waits until Christen looks away from their hands and up at her, “Always.”

Then Christen’s freeing her hand so she can wag a teasing finger in Tobin’s face. “Is that a Harry Potter reference?”

Tobin thinks her heart might burst.

* * *

“So we’re taking a field trip,” Christen grins at the surprised Tobin when she returns from fetching their coffees.

They’re standing outside the coffee shop in the upscale shopping plaza next to her office, the same one where she and Kelley are regulars and where she’s been meeting Tobin for almost two months now. Instead of grabbing a table, she takes Tobin by the arm and leads her across the street to her car. She’s so excited, Tobin’s practically stumbling to keep up with her despite their almost matching height.

Tobin stalls at the passenger door, frowning at the handle.

“What? What’s wrong?” Christen asks, rolling down the window so she doesn’t have to get out again.

Tobin leans forward, resting her arms on the frame. “This is a really nice car, Chris.”

“Thanks?” she replies, confused. Her BMW _is_ nice, but she’s pretty sure Tobin’s been in the equivalent or even nicer before.

“I just don’t want to spill,” Tobin finally explains, nodding down at her full cup.

“Oh,” she rolls her eyes, exasperated, “Whatever, just get in. You don’t want to know the damage Kelley’s done in here. And there’s all the times I’ve dumped my sweaty clothes all over the backseat after one of your clinics.”

Tobin grins, obviously pleased with herself for getting under Christen’s skin so easily. She’s noticed Tobin likes doing that—throwing her off her plan a little bit—not seriously but just enough to get her to slow down. It’s as frustrating as it is endearing.

They cruise down surface streets through relatively light traffic since it’s mid-day on a weekday. Christen expects Tobin to be absorbed by their surroundings and pointing things out to her nonstop. After all, Tobin spends almost all day running around the neighborhoods, and this area in particular, while Christen’s practically locked in her office. But Tobin’s barely looked out the window. Instead, she’s just looking at _Christen_.

“You’re really not going to tell me where we’re going?”

“We’re almost there,” she deflects, not wanting to say _no_ again.

Tobin accepts that answer better and reaches across the center console to tap Christen’s right hand on the steering wheel. Briefly, her thumb drifts across the thin ring on Christen’s pinky finger. “I haven’t said it lately. Thank you. I feel like... All this good stuff with the Foundation, it’s exciting and special. But it’s been more exciting and more special because it brought me to you.”

The phrasing is incredibly familiar, and she finally recognizes it as her verbal gaffe the day they met. That Tobin still remembers and is repeating it back to her now in a way that’s infinitely more personal and intimate? Christen feels the tears pricking behind her eyes. She’s always been an easy crier, especially when overwhelmed, but this time she can also feel her heart pounding with pure joy. With a watery smile, she manages a simple, “You’re welcome.”

Then she flips on her blinker and makes the final turn into a pothole-ridden parking lot.

“Is this the surprise?” Tobin asks warily, craning her neck to get a better look at the rundown concrete building out the window.

“Yep.” Christen climbs out of the car and waits as Tobin reluctantly does the same.

“Are you—”

“Yes, I’m totally going to kill you and dump your body here,” she deadpans, cutting off the joke she just knows is coming.

Tobin grins and shrugs, sheepish at being so predictable. “What are we really doing here then?”

“Come on,” Christen instructs, holding her hand out without a second thought. At least until Tobin takes it, then all she can think about is how right it feels to have Tobin’s hand in hers again.

Focusing, Christen leads her past the two other cars already parked there, Ashlyn’s and she’s assuming Lauren’s. When they round the “shitty old building,” there is indeed a “shitty pitch” on the other side, although some attempt has been started to restore it. Along the chain-link fence bordering the street, two signs have been mounted. One says “The Holiday Foundation,” and the other’s emblazoned with the Football and Film Academy logo.

Tobin’s hand goes impossibly tight around hers, and Christen squeezes back just as hard. 

“Is this—” she starts to ask but apparently can’t finish.

After a pause, Christen confirms, “This is for you.”

She turns to smile at Tobin but doesn’t get all the way there. Tobin’s throwing her arms around her, so tight Christen feels the air compressing out of her lungs as she struggles to free her arms to return the hug. Tobin drops her forehead to her shoulder, and Christen can hear her ragged breathing that’s not quite crying.

“Thank you isn’t enough,” Tobin says quietly. “You’ve changed my life, Chris.”

Before she can even try to respond, they’re interrupted by cheering. Lauren and Ashlyn have made their way out of the building and are heading towards them, all excited smiles and skipping feet. Right on time, Lindsey and Emily come around the side from the parking lot, just as Christen’s text instructed.

“Do you love it, Toby?” Ashlyn is yelling more than asking, and Tobin pulls away from Christen to take the full brunt of Ashlyn’s tackle-hug as she laughs, “Yeah, I really do.”

Christen watches quietly while Tobin moves to hug Lauren and then gets bombarded by Lindsey and Emily. A strange sense of resignation settles over her. She knows what she needs to do.

* * *

Tobin’s staring out at the increasingly familiar view from the Manhattan Beach conference room. The door clicks open, and without turning around, she asks, “Shouldn’t this room be called Santa Monica instead of Manhattan Beach? It’s what the view’s of. That’s bothered me since the first time.”

“Technically all of the conference rooms would have to be called Santa Monica then. They’re just named after random beaches. I’ve noticed it’s a thing law firms like to do. Remind you of all the great places you could be if you weren’t stuck inside at your desk all day.”

“Sounds cruel,” Tobin laughs when she looks over and Christen’s rolling her eyes.

Surprisingly, Christen’s not carrying her usual thick file of FFA documents. There’s just a thin folder in her hand, one that doesn’t even look like there’s a single piece of paper in it. Tobin tilts her head in confusion because they’re supposed to be going over some paperwork for the office and pitch. Something about a construction schedule, she thinks.

“I asked Kelley to join us today. She should be here soon, but there’s something I want to talk to you about first.”

Christen doesn’t meet her eye as she says this but instead takes a seat in one of the leather desk chairs. Feeling out of sorts, Tobin follows suit and grabs the one across from her.

“Oh,” she frowns, “Is something going on? Is that why we’re meeting in the office? Do we need _two_ lawyers for the pitch?”

“No, you don’t,” Christen pauses, taps her nails on the table, and stares out the window for a second. “I’ve really enjoyed working with you, Tobin. You and the FFA. It’s such an amazing organization you’ve founded, and with all this new support, it’s only going to get bigger and better.”

“Thank you. That means so much coming from you.”

The sincere words rush out of her in response to Christen’s praise, but then she processes the full message and realizes that it sounds like Christen is breaking up with her. Not that they’re _together_ in that sense, but ending their working relationship. Still, just like the first time she invited her to the clinic, the wrong phrasing jumps out of Tobin’s mouth. “Are you breaking up with me?”

Christen’s wide-eyed but she doesn’t have time to respond before Tobin’s course-correcting. “I mean, do you not want to represent FFA anymore?”

“I had an outline prepared,” Christen sighs, and Tobin manages a fond, “Of course you did.”

“This is why I’m not a litigator,” Christen whines quietly although Tobin thinks that was mainly to herself. She suddenly meets Tobin’s gaze head on, a steely look of determination in her eyes. “Will you just let me get through this without having to jump around to answer your questions?”

Tobin shrugs and makes a vague gesture that she should continue. She watches as Christen looks up, lips moving slightly as she probably reviews her mental outline. It’s astoundingly cute.

“Okay. Um,” a deep breath and then her hands fold together on the table in front of her, “As you know, the scope of the firm’s representation of FFA is expanding especially in conjunction with the new office and pitch. We’re excited for the upcoming changes and very proud to have played a small part in your support system.”

Despite her nerves at the direction this speech is going, Tobin grins a little at seeing Christen Press, Esquire, after all the time they’ve spent together talking about nothing over coffee and running after a ball and a bunch of kids on patchy grass. Except Christen does not look amused by her amusement so Tobin schools her features back to seriousness.

“We feel honored that FFA would like us to continue our representation and want to do everything possible to ensure its success in future endeavors. Unfortunately, a conflict of interest has developed.”

“Conflict of interest?” Tobin repeats with alarm, but Christen sends her a quieting look.

“We”—she closes her eyes and inhales sharply—“_I_ do not believe it’s possible for _me_ to continue representing FFA. The _firm_ is happy to continue its representation, and if agreeable to you, we will transfer all FFA matters to Kelley O’Hara effective immediately.”

“_Chris!_” Tobin can’t help that her voice is loud and panicky and just hopes these walls are sound-proofed. “What the hell is going? Don’t get me wrong. I like Kelley. She’s great. But _what_ conflict of interest?”

Christen doesn’t want to be involved anymore? Is she leaving the firm or something? Tobin knows she has bad days like everyone else but she’s pretty sure Christen enjoys her job overall and especially likes the opportunities she has to use her skills to help organizations like FFA. Specifically, she knows Christen _loves_ helping FFA, both as its attorney and hands-on at the clinics. It doesn’t make _any_ sense. 

“Tobin,” Christen’s smiling now which feels almost insulting given Tobin’s sheer panic, “just say yes.”

Her eyes widen, and she shakes her head wildly. “No! I’m not agreeing to anything until you explain.”

“Hey guys!” Kelley chooses that moment to waltz into the room, pen tucked behind her ear, hands holding the file Tobin recognizes as FFA’s. She takes in the scene, the strangely relaxed Christen and visibly panicked Tobin, and slowly steps backwards. “Too soon? I’ll come back in ten.”

“_Fix this_,” she hisses at Christen like Tobin can’t hear her. 

“Fix what?” Tobin demands once the door’s closed again.

“Tobin,” Christen sighs impatiently, “Will you just agree to transferring FFA to Kelley? And also sign this?” She slides the lone piece of paper in her folder and a pen across the table.

Tobin takes a second to scan the document, reading just enough to confirm that it’s putting this whole nightmare in writing. Everything seems set in stone already, and she’s somehow flat on her back, trying to figure out how her legs have been cut out from under her. She feels blindsided. Stubbornly, she shakes her head. “Tell me why first.”

“I can’t tell you until you sign.”

“Why not?”

“Because it’s a _conflict of interest_.”

“I don’t even know what that’s supposed to mean right now!”

The words explode out of her. Tobin’s not _dumb_. She knows what a conflict of interest is. She just doesn’t know how one could have possibly developed since three days ago when Christen (and Lauren and Ashlyn) surprised them with the new headquarters. Sure, they hugged, for a really long time, and she felt it down to her toes and never wanted to leave Christen’s arms, and damn Ashlyn for interrupting, but that couldn’t have scared Christen off enough that she no longer wants to help them.

“Then I’m a bad lawyer, and you should fire me and hire Kelley,” Christen argues, picking up the pen just to fling it back down. “Either way, just sign it.”

“You’re not a bad lawyer, Chris. You’re the _best_. And I’m not going to give you up without an explanation.” Tobin doesn’t want to sound like she’s begging but she’s pretty sure she’s begging. 

The earnest pleading seems to soften Christen though, and she deflates, dropping her head into her hands. 

When she lifts her head again, Christen sounds and looks _done_. “Tobin. For the love of football. Sign the stupid paper. I will explain everything right after. I promise.”

Feeling defeated, Tobin does, scrawling her signature above the line that reads, “Tobin Heath, Director.” Usually, seeing that title fills her with a sense of pride, but right now? She’s never disliked those words more. 

“Okay, there,” she sighs petulantly, shoving the paper back across the table. Christen takes it with a shaky hand and slots it back into the folder. “Now tell me what’s going on.”

“Okay, the conflict of interest is...” She takes a deep, fortifying breath before gazing at Tobin with the shyest expression. Tobin feels like she’s got whiplash because all of a sudden Christen is looking so damn _soft_ and Tobin just wants to wrap her up in a hug and never let go. “I think about kissing you all the time, and I can’t actually do anything about that if you’re my client.”

Tobin’s eyes are wide as she processes, and then this is the fastest her heart’s _ever_ beat, but all she can do is smile wide at Christen, and smile some more, before Kelley’s bursting back into the room.

“Oh, okay. That’s better,” Kelley starts, breathing a dramatic sigh of relief, “Stay where you are, Heath. No hanky panky at work. You know the rules, Pressy.”

Christen laughs, sounding elated and relieved, but she doesn’t look away from Tobin even as she picks up her file and backs out of the room. “Bring her by my office when you’re done? Thanks, Kels.”

* * *

Christen looks up at the knock on her door. Kelley doesn’t bother sticking around, just pushes Tobin forward a step and closes the door behind her. 

“Hi,” she grins, pulling off her reading glasses and setting them aside.

Tobin follows the motion, cheeks reddening as she mumbles, “You look good in those.”

“Thanks,” Christen feels a little smug because they’re just dumb reading glasses, “Did you and Kelley have a productive meeting? Can you sit for a minute?”

Tobin nods to both and sinks into the chair on the other side of her desk. 

“Kelley also explained about the ethics rules, and I know we’re at your work, so I just wanted to say, I think about kissing you all the time, too. And I’d really like to do that once we’re, you know, not at your work.”

The quiet, honest declaration fills Christen, and she kind of feels like she’s floating. Of course she had her suspicions. It would have been a crazy presumptuous (and vulnerable) leap to take if she wasn’t 99% sure of Tobin, and as a lawyer, she’s far too risk-averse for that. But it’s still incredible to hear out loud.

“I guess I should let you get back to it,” Tobin mumbles, looking unwilling to go, “I’ll see you tonight?”

“Yes,” she agrees instantly, “but I think you should turn around first.”

Tobin sends her a confused look, but she just raises her eyebrows until Tobin twists in the chair to face the wall opposite Christen’s desk. What she wouldn’t give to see Tobin’s initial reaction. It’s another second before Tobin starts to turn back, then she’s twisting again as if making sure it’s really there, before finally slumping back in the seat.

“My photo,” the words leave Tobin in a breathless rush, “_That’s_ where you—”

Christen cuts her off with a nod. The photograph is in the dead center of the wall, bracketed by her diploma from Stanford Law School and her certificate from the State Bar of California. It’s more than a little asymmetrical, but for once Christen doesn’t mind at all.

“I wasn’t sure about it at first. I thought it would be a distraction, that I’d waste too much time daydreaming, but it’s the opposite actually. I look at it, and it motivates me to work harder here so I have more time to spend out there.”

Tobin doesn’t seem to know what to say so Christen stands and walks around her desk. “Come on,” she offers her hand, “I’ll walk you to the elevator.”

* * *

This time, Tobin doesn’t leave behind a business card.

She leaves her heart.

* * *

“Thank you.”

Tobin looks away from the ruckus on the field to focus on Christen. It’s difficult because Kelley tagged along tonight and she’s been matching Sonny crazy idea for crazy idea, but the moment she catches Christen’s eyes, a bright green that conveys peace and happiness, everything else falls away.

“For what?” Tobin shoots back, casual but genuine, “You’re the one who’s done everything.”

“Tobin, you don’t understand. Before I met you, I was... stuck. That joke about feeling trapped inside and being taunted by conference room names of all things? It was true. I had worked myself into this corner and knew I wanted more for my life but didn’t know what or how because all I knew anymore was work.”

Christen’s hands fly around as she explains, and Tobin is struck again by how natural she is out on the pitch. It’s a shame to think Christen ever felt trapped so Tobin’s only being honest when she blurts out, “That’s super depressing.” 

When Christen’s jaw drops in astonishment, Tobin winces. “I’m not helping, sorry. Continue, please.”

“Well, now I don’t want to tell you the nice part,” Christen mutters teasingly. 

Tobin begs again while both Christen’s hands come up to her hair to smooth down flyaways that haven’t even flown away. She recognizes it as Christen’s nervous tick and sends her a reassuring smile. “I want to know the nice part. Please?”

Christen heaves a sigh like it’s some big burden but she’s smiling when she finally continues. “You came along and you pulled me out of the office so easily. I couldn’t figure out why until I realized it’s because I _wanted_ to go. And, for the first time, I felt like I could have success at work and still make a difference out here. It was refreshing, life-changing even.”

“You’re stealing my line,” Tobin accuses even as it brings a smile to her face.

“It’s a good line,” Christen beams, “Tobin Heath, you changed my life.”

Arrogant as it may be, Tobin’s heard that before, from kids she’s mentored and from parents she’s spared after school care costs. All of those times pale in comparison to _Christen_ saying those words. She steps closer on instinct, but Sonny’s well-timed whistle brings her back to reality, and she jerks back.

Christen raises an eyebrow in question, and Tobin lets out a tight laugh. “Remember when we were in your office and I didn’t kiss you because you were at work?”

“Ugh,” Christen groans, acknowledging the truth of the words, “This is really dragging out.”

“Trust me. I’m not happy about it either, but unless you want a bunch of teenagers seeing and _photographing_ our first kiss... I don’t know what to tell you.” Tobin shrugs like she’s not bothered, like she hasn’t been waiting to kiss Christen for _months_ now, and receives a push to her shoulder for her act.

“Come on, let’s go help,” Christen suggests before muttering, “Might as well pay back Kelley for interrupting earlier.”

(Christen does and shows off her regained skills, nutmegging and feinting her former captain until Kelley’s pounding grass in frustration, when all they’re supposed to be doing is demonstrating drills.)

Somehow, they make it through the clinic and clearing away the setup and saying bye to the stragglers and enduring Kelley’s and Sonny’s teasing without losing their minds. It takes so long that they breathe simultaneous sighs of relief once they’re the only ones left on the pitch. Then it’s shy glances and nervous smiles as they slowly drift together, fully prepared to put an end to the anticipation. The sound of electric whirring startles them, but they quickly realize what’s happening when the flood lights power down.

“Lights are off,” Christen states obviously. Tobin would lose her blinding smile to the darkness except they’re in the middle of the city and there’s plenty of ambient light around. “Does that mean your office is closed?”

Tobin only needs a second to catch on to Christen’s double meaning, then she’s reaching for Christen’s hand, shuffling closer, leaning forward, and—

“Tobin, is that you?”

The beam of a flashlight sweeps over them, Christen jerks a hand up to shield the bright light, and Tobin recognizes the voice of the night security guard for the school. “You’ve got to be kidding—” she mutters in complete frustration. “Yeah, it’s me!” she hollers over her shoulder, ignoring Christen’s barely stifled laughter.

“Hurry it up, will you? I got to lock the gate,” he calls back.

Tobin shakes her head and rolls her eyes, just knows Christen is still laughing at this completely ridiculous situation, as she pulls her by the hand toward the entrance. They wave goodnight to the guard when they pass and tuck into each other’s sides while they weave through the parking lot.

“Will you meet me somewhere?” she asks once they reach Christen’s car.

Christen crinkles her forehead in confusion. “You still want to go somewhere else tonight?”

“Yeah,” Tobin grins, already proud of herself for thinking of it, “Manhattan Beach.”

“The conference room? You want to go back to my office?” 

The forehead crinkle deepens so Tobin leans forward and tiptoes a little to brush her lips there. Christen’s already blushing when she pulls away, and Tobin’s eager to see how much brighter that gets after she quips, “No, my apartment.”

* * *

Months later, a second picture joins Tobin’s on Christen’s office wall. This one was taken by a high school student during a simple night of football and captures two figures smiling and standing close together on the sidelines. Unofficially, the photograph is titled “Sparks”.

**Author's Note:**

> Can’t believe I used legal mumbo jumbo in RPF. I blame those pics of CP in a suit.


End file.
